


Splinters Flying

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [10]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troi ties up some loose ends while Picard attempts to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinters Flying

You and your sweet smile  
You and your tantalizing ways  
You and your honey lips  
You and all the sweet things that they say  
You and your wild wild ways  
One day you just up and walked away

You left me hurting  
But I can forgive you for that now  
You taught me something  
Something I took half my life to learn  
When you give all yourself away  
Just tell them to be careful of your heart

Be careful of my heart,  
Be careful of this heart of mine  
Be careful of my heart,  
It just might break and send some splinters flying  
Be careful of my heart,  
Be careful

But I'm not breaking down  
And I'm not falling apart  
I just lost a little faith  
When you broke my heart  
Given a chance  
I might try it again  
But I wouldn't risk it all this time

I'd save  
A little love for myself  
Enough for my heart to mend  
A little love for myself  
One day I just might love again  
One day some sweet smile might turn my head  
One day I just might give all myself away

~~~Tracy Chapman

~*~*~*~*~*~

The chips went out in neat stacks. The cards -- Riker had brought his own deck, as usual, this time a dog-eared starbases of the quadrant set. Jean-Luc only wasted a few seconds wondering why not a Miss Galaxy deck, before turning from the card table they'd dragged into his quarters. He glanced out at the *Lexington* -- had Riker actually parked it just outside captain's quarters on purpose? It was a good view of the little vessel, which would have nested nicely under the bow of the *Enterprise* if he'd tried.

"I asked Carlisle to come, but I doubt he will," Jean-Luc said.

Riker lazed on the sofa, long legs crossed, drink cradled over his chest over his crossed arm. "I doubt my tactical will, either. He's got a girlfriend down in engineering."

"He doesn't see her often enough?"

"Not when she's in your engineering, he doesn't." Riker glanced out the windows. "I didn't think I'd like it, but she's a nice little ship. Maneuverable. We've gotten out of some spots you'd probably still be jammed up in."

"Not with Dee around, we wouldn't." Jean-Luc poured himself an ale. Riker's idea, of course. The whole game was his idea, including hosting it in Picard's quarters as his own weren't so large.

"You're going to milk that sim for all it's worth, aren't you? Ever going to let her take command again?"

"Once we're off the Neutral Zone and she's gotten a little further along in training."

Riker snorted, re-crossed his legs and took a draw on his glass. "You think we'll ever get off the zone? They think there's a chance the Maquis have regrouped out here somewhere, not just hidden out from the long arm of the law."

"What the -- " Jean-Luc looked up at the sound of the annunciator. "Come in."

Geordi and Data came in, the former in a sweater over his uniform slacks, the latter still 'pipped up' as Deanna called it when off-duty crew persisted in wearing uniforms. The current incarnation of the *Enterprise* tended to have a more relaxed off duty atmosphere than its prior incarnation. Part of that had to do with the more mature, more comfortable personality of the captain, Dee claimed, and part had to do with the other senior officers.

"So when's Mrs. Captain coming -- " Geordi stopped short, froze in place. "Oh. Sorry, Captain."

Jean-Luc gave him a razing-the-bulkhead stare, then turned his back on the engineer and sipped ale. He'd heard the term -- it was one of several, and the one he liked least. The personal and the professional relationships between him and his counselor were two separate things; he'd let Deanna guide them along, relying on her sense of how best to handle it. So far the only repercussions had been a spate of nicknames and jokes, and one bad run-in with someone she'd known years ago. Even being seen together in civilian clothing hadn't been detrimental. As long as they maintained visible boundaries, she said, as long as they kept up a professional demeanor in public with minimal affectionate displays, they should be able to balance.

Riker cleared his throat. "How're the engines, Geordi? Got things tweaked out of spec yet?"

"Give us a few crises to battle and we'll improvise up a new batch of improvements. Batris has a lot of theoretical ideas -- it's like having Wesley on board again, only without the fresh face and the awkward questions about girls." His enthusiasm had waned following his slip-up.

Jean-Luc turned back and took his place at the table, glancing up at Geordi, putting aside his previous annoyance. "Deanna will return in two days."

"I hope she remembers to bring back my dog." Data's cat Spot had finally succumbed to old age. The reminder brought back irritation at the android's request that Jean-Luc perform an actual funeral, albeit a private one, for his beloved pet. As far as Data had come, he occasionally exhibited some peculiarities. Jean-Luc wondered how Deanna had handled the situation -- Data didn't seem disturbed that no funeral had materialized. Deanna had volunteered to pick up a replacement pet, if Data trusted her judgement. There weren't so many animals on the ship; the E wasn't so family friendly as the D, and the selection of available pets smaller.

"I'm sure she'll remember, Data, you only reminded her ten times on the way to the shuttle bay," Geordi said.

"Where did Dee go, anyway?" Riker came to the table at last and watched Data take up the deck.

Jean-Luc waited until his hand had been completed, then picked it up. "There's one thing I left out of the story, Will. Tom Riker was one of the Maquis we picked up on Galisi. He's still being held at Starbase 468."

Will dropped his cards. His blue eyes narrowed; he stared at his former captain. "She went to see him?"

"He requested it. He promised he'd talk, but only to her. If there's anything Starfleet wants at this point, it's intelligence about what the Maquis are up to -- there may not be many of them, but having them show up on the Neutral Zone is too much of a coincidence for anyone's liking."

"And you *let* her *go*?"

Jean-Luc looked up from his cards. For a time, the two captains stared at each other across the table. "You seem to be under the impression that I have some control over her."

"You're still her captain, last time I checked."

Riker's umbrage wasn't entirely unexpected. He still exhibited what Deanna called 'territorial behavior' in spite of everything. Jean-Luc sniffed, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "And if that was all I was, she would still have gone. I would have presented her with Starfleet's request just the same, and let her make the decision, just the same. She doesn't need my protection."

"Could've fooled me. You let her get shot to hell on purpose, didn't you? Just to prove -- "

The table caught Riker in the midriff, knocking him forward slightly. Jean-Luc picked up his chair, calming himself using one of the Betazoid techniques he'd learned, and got a towel from the bar to mop up spilled ale and salvage cards. When he'd calmed somewhat, he glanced at Riker again.

"Accuse me of that again, and I'll sit on you until Dee gets back and let her beat you to a bloody pulp herself." He sat down again. "Are you really here to play poker? Or is this going to be a repeat of the last game?"

Riker tossed chips in the middle of the table, glowering, but settling back in his chair and dropping his gaze to his cards. Geordi and Data exchanged glances, then one-shouldered shrugs, and Geordi tossed chips in.

"Glad I didn't get a drink yet," he muttered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna was glad of deLio's presence at her back. Part of her bristled at the thought that the security chief had come along solely to protect her; any number of people could have flown the shuttle for her. But part of her enjoyed the thought that deLio himself had insisted on doing it. Since the incident on Galisi last month, the sad-faced L'norim had shown more interest in her, as if nearly dying of multiple contusions and blood loss had endeared her to him. And now, looking at the assortment of ships at the starbase and the races represented, having trained security along for the ride didn't seem such a bad idea.

They passed the observation windows, skirting crowds of gawkers staring at the ships parked in orbit around the station. Her uniform, and deLio's presence like a solid threat at her shoulder, parted whatever groups were too large to go around. She caught herself mimicking Jean-Luc's self-assured manner, his pretense of being larger and stronger than anyone else in sight, and smiled at the thought of him. At the thought of the morning before, when he'd broken from their routine and caught her in the shower -- she wondered if that weren't why he'd allowed the routine to happen, just to delight her with the occasional breaking of it.

Shaking off the memory of the slip of his hands up her thighs, she quickened her pace and turned down a corridor that would take them to the security section of the starbase.

deLio took care of the clerk at the front, announcing her presence as if she were royalty, another ego stroke. They were escorted between the rows of solid doors to cell 4C, led through, left in the antechamber outside a force field, the blue glow of it cast on the stark gray walls in the dimly-lit chamber.

"Wait outside, deLio. I'll call if I need you."

The chief of *Enterprise* security shook his head, drooping jowls wobbling. He stood at parade rest just inside the closed doors. She briefly considered pulling rank, and took a different avenue.

"I won't lower the force field. I'll be safe. Please." She glanced at the series of vents along the wall opposite the field, where she knew sensors observed every movement and sound in the room.

deLio's green eyes regarded her solemnly, then he took a step backward, setting off the door sensor. He backed into the hall. The doors closed on him, standing at attention facing them. Finally, she approached the force field and looked inside.

He looked so much like Will her heart jerked into her throat. Of course, he really was Will, but as he would have been if he'd been replaced by someone he thought of as a copy of himself. The transporter accident that had created him and left him stranded on a planet for years, putting his career in stasis, then his rescue by the *Enterprise* and the 'original' William T. Riker -- his psyche had suffered from the long lonely exile and the shock of being replaced. He'd tried to restart his career and suffered a crisis of principle verses duty, like so many other officers, and gone rogue.

And, from what they'd learned, he'd made a good showing in the Maquis. Like his twin, he'd risen to command, but in the loose structure of the rebel organization that had formed and been dispersed during the Dominion War. The Riker clan were all of a charismatic bent, natural leaders, and people would loyally fall in line under them.

Tom sat on the bunk, hair longer than Will's and askew. The navy blue coverall had a neon yellow stripe up the tops of the sleeves and yellow numbers printed on the front and back, shouting his status as a prisoner. He had that sullen look of someone in a situation from which they knew there could be no escape but determined to do it anyway. She felt his anger, his frustration, and he glared at her.

"You said imzadi was something unique, almost sacred," he spat. "You used it to lure me in for the kill. How could you do that to me?"

She expected something like this, but not up front. Having prepared her schooled demeanor, she knew she didn't appear to react, but it hurt just the same. "You put the colonists in danger by bombing -- you killed people, Tom. We wanted to avoid further loss of life, including yours."

He rushed the barrier, stopping short, but she flinched back a step out of reflex. "They have you heart and soul, don't they? Starfleet's turned you into just another drone. Just another body in uniform, stolen all the heart and soul and passion -- Dee, what happened? What's happened to you? You used to love me!"

"You aren't the Will Riker I knew. And frankly, I'm not the woman you knew, either. Tom -- "

"Don't call me that! It's not my name. Not my real name. I'm Will Riker, I'm your Will, the one who held your hand, walked in the jungles at Janara -- You can't make me believe that's gone."

"Will," she said gently, rolling her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her, presenting as soft a posture as she could, "please settle down. There's no sense in becoming so upset. I'm here to talk, not endure your tantrums."

"Tell me you haven't forgotten." He stood with clenched fists daring her to say something.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Deanna retrieved the chair from a corner and placed it in front of the force field. Sitting with crossed ankles, she kept her hands relaxed in her lap. "I couldn't forget, Will. I haven't. I'd like to hear what's happened to you since the last time I saw you, if you'd be willing to tell me. I've thought about you often since you left the *Enterprise.*"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Geordi was the first to go. Jean-Luc suspected he had a date, and had only put in a token appearance. He'd noticed some teasing going on between the engineer and second officer recently, caught a few stray words that made him wonder if Carlisle hadn't set the incurable technophile up with someone.

Data kept dealing, and even sampled the ale. "There is a high probability that you will lose your shirt, Captain." The android's yellow eyes flicked to Jean-Luc's dwindling stack of chips.

"Don't bet the ship on it, eh?" Jean-Luc tapped his cards and received another. "Oh, hell. You've got a rigged deck, don't you?"

"Not this deck," Will said. "I'm getting the short end of the stick as well. I'm folding." He tossed the hand and leaned back, hands behind his head.

Data shuffled again after raking in the chips. He tossed the cards with a practiced flick of his wrist. At least he'd finally given up on wearing the visor and arm band. He met Jean-Luc's gaze and smiled a little.

"I enjoyed having Beverly aboard," he said. "I find her much more pleasant than Dr. Mengis."

"Beverly? You had Beverly here?" Riker's chair thumped forward again and he picked up his cards.

"The *Valiant* is out here, too. Or was. I expect it'll take a while for the repairs. She was badly damaged -- Barregan fell into the trap the Maquis set and got a torpedo in his belly." Jean-Luc frowned at his cards. "Data, do you have to keep giving me the same cards? Aren't there any other cards in that deck?"

"I believe I did shuffle -- "

"I know, I'm just exaggerating -- another one, already. Yes, it was good to see Bev again. Though she set off a near-riot by cleaning out most of the lower decks crew at poker, and I think she and Dee were a little too busy cooking up something mischievous. Both of them had a little too much time on their hands for a while for anyone's good." Jean-Luc darted a sidelong glance at Riker. "Did you know they have a rating system based on you?"

"Rating system?"

"They rank up-and-comers and use you for a yardstick." Jean-Luc accepted another card and smirked at Data. "You, Data, are a three-quarters Riker. You'll have to work on charisma to get a higher rating, I'm told."

"Charisma." He grinned.

"No, Data, you look like a jack o'lantern. You'll have to do a little better than that." Data subsided, and practiced a few variants of the grin while he studied his hand.

"So what are you?" Riker asked slyly, leaning his elbows on the table.

Jean-Luc picked up his glass. "That's not the appropriate question."

"Then what is the appropriate question?"

"The appropriate question is, what are you? The answer is probably best left to conjecture."

Data tilted his head. "Then you are the -- yardstick, to which they compare Captain Riker?"

Now Will turned sullen, exponentially. "And just what did they rate me on their little yardstick?"

Jean-Luc rolled the ale around his mouth and swallowed, and paid attention to his cards. "That was something not made clear to me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I understand your feelings about the Cardassians. Many people feel the same way."

"What are your feelings about them, Dee? You think it's fair that those butchers got away with all the killing, then ally themselves with the Dominion -- and now the Feds are helping them rebuild?" Tom prowled in circles.

"What I think won't have much impact on the matter." Deanna put her hands on her knee, fingers meshed and cupping her kneecap.

"What happened to your hair?"

The question was one he'd been keeping since she came in, from the way he blurted it. She touched the side of her head. As artfully as she brushed her hair around, it was still obvious a significant portion was missing over her left ear.

"Phaser burn."

He stared at her. "Shit. What's that stupid fool thinking, putting you on away teams -- "

"He didn't. He's got his own ship now."

"Then who -- you're still on the same ship, right?" He came as close as he dared to the field, actually causing a spark with a corner of his sleeve.

"Yes, I'm still aboard the *Enterprise.* Commander Data is our first officer now. He was severely injured as well."

"The android? They put an *android* second in command of a starship?" Tom laughed, quite unpleasantly. "Oh, that's rich."

She pursed her lips, keeping her defensive remarks to herself. "Were you the one on lookout, the one who shot us?"

"No, that was -- ah. Like I'm going to tell you so you can have him up for attempted murder. I don't know why I bothered, this is ridiculous. You're so hypnotized by Starfleet doctrine all you want is to pry information out of me."

"If that was all I was here for, some other psychologist would have served as well. I know better than to think you would part with information you deem important willingly."

He smiled cannily. "Oh, you are a good one. Working your way around like that. Sneaking in behind me, playing it cool. Flatter the man and get him to relax."

She shrugged and kept her innocuous wouldn't-hurt-a-bacterium smile in place. "Flattery, perhaps, but no less true. You have the same training as your brother, the same resolve, the same basic drive to succeed at whatever you deem worthy of attempting. So it really isn't worth my while to try, is it?"

"Were you hurt bad?"

"Did I sound like I was pretending? I fell, among some very sharp rocks. I wasn't in any condition to do much more than scream for help." She studied him for a moment. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for the deception. But I would rather deceive and save lives than see you all die."

"Save your fellow officers, you mean."

"No. I meant what I said, Will."

He stared down at her, his expression excruciating to look at, but she didn't waver or give away her inner anxiety. "Tell me you still -- "

"I can't. You can't ask that of me, any more than *he* could. It's too late."

"Imzadi -- "

"Don't call me that again," Deanna said softly. "You'll never hear me say it, either. I shouldn't have said it on Galisi."

Tom backed a step, dropped into a crouch, and met her gaze through the force field, begging with his eyes. She thought for a moment that he might fly into a rage, throw himself at the field -- but he sat looking at her as if she'd stabbed him in the gut.

"Have you done the same thing to him? Have you turned him away, too?"

"We all made our decisions, Will. You cut yourself off from me when you tried to take the same short cut as the rest of the Maquis. Whatever I dislike about Starfleet, turning into an outlaw is not what I want for my life."

"I asked about *him.* I went away thinking he would take care of you -- now it appears I'm deprived of that much satisfaction."

Deanna lifted her head imperiously. "I don't need *anyone* to take care of me, Will Riker."

"You don't? Funny, sounds like you got hurt pretty bad."

"Spare me the superior male posturing. While I'll admit to liking an occasional pampering, I did go to the Academy, and I did survive quite a few away missions. And I've done my share of rescuing as well as needing rescue -- it's why there are teams, so we can help each other. So no, I don't need your protection, or his."

"It appears I've touched a nerve." He tipped his head away from her and peered at her from under his lashes. "Feeling a little insecure, Counselor?"

"What if I was? Would you break down the force field to protect me? Give up the Maquis to come play bodyguard for me, follow me wherever I go to throw your body between the big bad aliens and me? Sleep on the floor outside my door? Or overdose on stims because you're afraid if you sleep, some alien entity will slip in and take me away one night? Going to taste all my food before I eat it, and interview the hairdresser before he can touch my head for fear he'll stab me in the ear?" She kept her eyes on his face. "Is that what you want, Will? A woman who can't move without fear, so you can puff yourself up and be the hero?"

"You're overdoing it. Is that his idea of taking care of you? Smothering you?"

"I'm not talking about him. You're the one who seems to think he should take care of me. He has his own ship now. I haven't seen him in months."

Tom smiled smugly. "Who did you replace him with?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Data left the room with a last apologetic glance over his shoulder.

"That's what happens when you put too many ensigns on the bridge at once," Riker said. "Leave them alone for five minutes and they break tactical."

"Yes, I know. I've had too many of them to nursemaid, remember. Command has this misguided idea that I'll somehow teach them how to grow up to command ships."

They put away the chips in companionable silence. Jean-Luc refilled both their glasses while Riker moved to sit on the sofa. They sat together, drinks in hand, looking out at the *Lexington.*

"Dee was pretty beat up, wasn't she?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "Hit the rocks hard. Broken ribs and vertebrae, burnt arm, punctured lungs, lacerated stomach and intestine -- deLio said Data was helping her up the slope when the phaser caught him. The nimbus took off some of her hair and scorched her arm. When Data fell, she was holding his hand, and his weight yanked her off her feet and flipped her. He did a belly flop in the scree, and she landed flat on her back. If she hadn't made it to sickbay when she did, she'd be gone. They had to resuscitate her as it was."

Riker watched his face as he spoke. "It hit you hard, didn't it?"

Jean-Luc took a few swallows of ale and propped his elbow on the back of the sofa. "Damn near killed me."

"Going to send her down again?"

"Have to." He bit his thumbnail. "Of course, now deLio takes it upon himself to follow her around. I'm not certain whether to take that as loyalty to me, or to her."

"Got to watch those security officers, they're dangerous."

Jean-Luc crossed his legs and eyed Riker sardonically. "You never did quite accept that whole assignation with -- "

"Don't take us there, please. It's just a little too surreal to discuss it with you, of all people." Riker grinned fiercely. "Then again -- is it just me, or is it too odd that she managed to work her way through half -- "

"You're absolutely right. It's too surreal."

Riker got up for another drink. "Don't worry, I doubt Geordi's her type."

"She seems to enjoy Data's company well enough."

Riker stared at him incredulously. "Jean-Luc -- it's currently fifteen hundred. We have enough time to get thoroughly drunk, and sleep it off in time for making it to the bridge in the morning. Got any of that wine of yours?"

Jean-Luc thought about facing the empty bed -- he hadn't slept alone once in the last four months, not even when Deanna was in sickbay, and those few nights he'd spent sitting with her waiting for her to wake up. Now she was off sitting across a force field from Will Riker's twin, who would certainly mirror Will's attitude toward her in some degree. Only with less control.

"I don't have enough wine for that. But this close to the zone, there's always. . . . " He reached behind the sofa and produced a bottle of electric blue liquid.

Riker discarded his glass and picked up two shot glasses. Jean-Luc filled them, set aside the bottle, and took his. They raised them in unison.

"To Deanna," Jean-Luc said.

"And all her damned lovers," Riker added.

"Indeed."

They knocked back the first shot in tandem.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna studied Tom from behind her best impassive counselor's mask. "One of the other captured Maquis was asking about you -- I believe her name was Seliti?"

"Oh, tit for tat, Counselor. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Spending all this time serving on a ship with your imzadi and never pursuing a real relationship with him. I was safely out of his way -- what stopped him?"

"Will had other goals. Obviously."

"So who did you replace him with?"

"Why don't you tell me -- "

"Why don't you tell me why you came here?"

"To see you. To apologize. To -- " She stared, aware of the sensors behind her. "Make sure you are all right."

"So concerned you just happened to stop in when I was safely behind this?" He tapped the field. The discharge made her jump.

"Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

"Too late for that." He rose from the crouch he'd been sitting in, crossed his arms, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. A very Riker gesture. "You know, if I threw myself around hard enough, they'd come in and sedate me, and I wouldn't have to cope with seeing you and knowing it'll be the last time I'll ever see you. You know how that feels?"

"Do you want me to leave?" She watched him pace slowly around like a lion in a too-small cage.

"Deanna, you know what I want. You've always known."

"But you never did anything to make me want the same thing, did you?" she whispered.

"What could I have done? Imzadi -- "

"There's more to life than mysticism and fantasy," she snapped, startling him. His head came around, his attitude reminding her of a chastised child.

"How can you dismiss it like this?" he exclaimed. "Pass it off this way? Like it's *nothing* to you!"

"It wasn't nothing, it will never be nothing, but I wasn't the one who treated it that way in the first place," she intoned, rising and striding from the room.

She heard the zap of the field as he threw himself against it just before the solid security doors slammed shut. deLio, implacable and solid, unwaveringly sober, fell in behind her, just off her left shoulder as before.

"Are we finished?" he asked quietly.

"No, just taking a break. Are you hungry?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hot. Jean-Luc tore off the outer layer of his uniform, fumbled with the pips and dropped them on the end table, tossing the jacket over the back of the sofa.

"You really don't know what it's like," Riker continued, sounding slightly buzzed. He'd gotten ahead of Jean-Luc, and was pouring more Romulan ale -- again.

"Will, slow down. You pass out on my floor this early and I'll lose all respect for you."

"Beverly really didn't care? She really was happy for you?"

"Want to call her and ask her? I think she's still at starbase waiting for her ship to finish repairs. You could take some lessons in being a good sport from her."

Riker brought over the bottle. He poured ale in Jean-Luc's glass, a little unsteady about it, and put the bottle on the floor as he slumped down on the cushion. "Oh, I can be a good sport. Don't worry, I won't get drunk and kill anyone."

"I don't take bets with anyone who's downed that much liquid antimatter in fifteen minutes."

They sat in the silence of two men determined to get drunk, with too many unanswered questions waiting to be asked, and Jean-Luc wished. . . what? That Deanna were there? So she could be referee?

He wondered how much stock to place in the concept she'd mentioned, imzadi. The materials he'd read on Betazoid customs and mental abilities hadn't been clear on exactly what it was. She'd tried to explain it to him, finally, after he'd questioned hearing it on the records of the Galisi incident -- she'd used it to bait Tom Riker into stunning range. She hadn't wanted to explain but she'd forced herself to go through with it -- she acted as if he might be angry at her for it.

If imzadi were such a permanent thing, if it were such an important thing -- if it was anything close to what Jean-Luc experienced with Deanna now -- why had Will walked away from her so long ago? She claimed it had something to do with how Will was acting now. It didn't make sense. If the imzadi bond had existed for all these years, why had all the other women come into the picture, and why had he not made the rendezvous with Deanna as he'd originally promised?

"You don't know what it's like," Riker began again. "To work all your life, get what you want, and figure out it's not what you wanted. It even felt right, for years, but it wasn't quite there yet so I kept -- hanging in there, waiting for it to be more right. And I finally go ask the counselor to make it more right, and she looks at me like I'm insane."

Jean-Luc sipped the ale -- it seared his throat less as he went along. When it started to taste mellow, he'd be drunk enough.

"Imzadi," Will scoffed. "Like it made a hell of a lot of difference. She wouldn't even talk to me about it. Just looked at me like I needed my head examined, and I should go find someone else to do it. And the last time I was here, she told me it was my fault -- my fault! I had a career! She was starting her own career! What was I supposed to do? It was impossible!"

He downed the ale. Jean-Luc watched him pour another, thinking it probably wouldn't be prudent to say that it really was Will's fault.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna sat with deLio in a booth in one of the many Starfleet lounges around the starbase, picking at her food. deLio munched contentedly on a large bowl of greens and didn't speak. Another thing she liked about having him along; if she had to have someone to fly the shuttle, might as well be someone who didn't chatter incessantly.

"You are upset," he said suddenly. She raised her eyes from her half-eaten pasta.

"He is a difficult patient. Not really a patient, even, more of a subject. He's intelligent and he knows me well."

"An old friend." deLio didn't smile, nor did his tone of voice vary, as he spoke with his usual slightly-raspy tenor. The overlapping folds of tan skin down his cheeks wobbled as he chewed.

"You could say that."

"What is imzadi?"

She dropped her fork and pushed the heel of her hand into her eye socket. Of course he would wonder, quite innocently -- he'd been there when she'd used the word to draw Tom out into the open.

"I am sorry. Forgive my intrusiveness."

"It's a Betazoid word, a concept -- a romantic sort of thing. A bond, between two people." She sighed and stuffed rigatoni in her mouth.

"This Tom Riker looks very much like Captain Riker. He claims to be William Riker."

Of course, the security officer would know that -- Tom had spent time in the *Enterprise* brig on the way to the starbase. She'd been incapacitated, unable to see him, but she'd learned since that Tom had asked for her repeatedly.

"There was a transporter accident, some time ago. Before Will was the captain's first officer. Tom Riker is actually a copy of Will, and consequently he thinks he is Will. He -- they -- have a very strong sense of identity, and -- it's. . . complicated."

deLio ate quietly for a while, and she finished her own considerably-smaller salad.

"If you wish to leave, I will change the departure schedule with the station master."

"Thank you, deLio, but no."

The L'norim said nothing more. They returned to the security section, and when they reached the cell deLio took up his position in the hall without a word. She paused, studying him, and went into the antechamber to face Tom Riker again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What does she call you?" Riker asked. They still sat more or less upright on the sofa, and Jean-Luc estimated he'd had four glasses to Riker's seven. Romulan ale was one of those things that didn't play games -- when you drank it, you felt it for hours afterward. But for a while, he'd be comfortably numb.

"Jean. What else would she call me?"

"Oh, come on -- she always plays nicknaming games. I'll bet you have ten different nicknames by now. What does she call you, when you're -- "

"None of your damn business."

Riker snorted, laughed briefly, and reached for the bottle, letting his hand fall to the couch again without making contact. "Like I'll remember it in the morning. Like I'll remember anything. I wish I didn't remember anything."

"This was an exceptionally bad idea," Jean-Luc mumbled.

"How long's it been since you were really rip-roaring drunk, Jean?"

It took a few minutes of thinking to remember. "Oh. . . about twenty-five years, give or take."

"You're due, then. Does she call you imzadi?"

"No," Jean-Luc exclaimed, in his most forbidding voice. "If you can't shut up about her, leave. I don't feel like discussing your regrets and mistakes."

"Sorry, Johnny, I should know better, shouldn't I?" Will found the bottle with his fingers, dragged it up the front of the sofa, and poured more ale. He slopped a little over Jean-Luc's knee when refilling his glass. "At least you acknowledge that it's a mistake. The way she acts, you'd think I deliberately tried to hurt her." He put the bottle on the floor and stared at the ceiling, holding his drink in the middle of his chest, over that wet spot on his uniform where he'd already spilled some ale.

Jean-Luc hated not being able to hate the man. They'd become good friends, almost like he and Jack -- not quite. There'd never be another one like Jack.

Or was there?

Beverly. Deanna.

Damn.

"Come on, Will," he exclaimed, pulling himself to his feet. Amazing how his reflexes were already starting to slow. He bent carefully and picked up the bottle by the neck between two fingers.

"Where we going?"

Jean-Luc heaved the man to his feet by the arm, plucked his own comm badge from his discarded jacket, and tapped it. "Mr. Data?"

"Captain?"

"All's well on the bridge?"

"Yes, sir, we're just finishing the repairs."

"Captain Riker and I will be in one of the holodecks. I'd appreciate it if we weren't disturbed. See you in the morning. Picard out."

He tossed the comm badge in the general direction of his pips, sent Riker's after it, and led the bemused half-drunk man out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Tell me about your connections with the Romulans."

Tom glared at her. Direct questions had rendered him speechless. He stood, arms at his sides, stiff and persistently blocking her attempts to read him.

"You could receive a lighter sentence -- "

"The hell with you, and your questions!"

Deanna tilted her head slightly. "If I didn't think I could help, I wouldn't be here."

"I don't need your help."

"Then I guess I'll be seeing you whenever." She stood up.

"Wait! Dee, please -- " He stopped short of the field again, as if out of habit. "Please."

"Yes?"

"The Romulans haven't asked for much, yet." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "The contacts have been brief."

"And?"

He made eye contact, pleading. "Drop the field. Please. I just -- "

"What?" She crossed her arms tightly, fixing her most stern stare on him.

"I just want to touch you. That's all. Just to hold you, just for a minute."

"I won't be your hostage, and I won't help you escape."

"I know better than that -- like there isn't security right outside the door and surveillance watching our every move!" Tom paced a few steps back and forth, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked more desperate every second. "Just let me touch you, and I'll tell everything -- even to them. Even after you leave."

She glared at him. "You're asking me to prostitute myself to gain the information you know they want. Is that really what you think of me?"

"No! I don't think -- " His hands struck the field. In a flare of white he was propelled backward against the bunk. He recovered slowly, struggled to his feet, and shook off the aftereffects. "I don't think that of you. You don't understand what it's been like, not seeing you."

"Unrequited love is difficult to get over," she said. "I know. I've had patients who have suffered it. I've felt like that myself, in fact."

His hand dropped from his head. "You're saying you don't love me any more?"

Deanna closed her eyes and tried to hold herself in check. "It's been over for a long, long time. How long did you think I could hang on? How long did you expect me to cling to the feelings you left me with? Do you understand what it was like when you didn't show up on Risa? There I was, surrounded by pleasure, and all I could feel was pain. We could have been so much to each other, and all you could think of was your career -- flying around in starships, the charge of adrenalin you get when you're going on a mission -- you chose those things over me. What was I supposed to think? Was I really supposed to believe you meant everything you said, when your actions spoke so clearly?"

"But I would have been there! Imzadi -- "

"What do you think that word really means?" She strolled along the front of the cell, glaring at him. "What does it mean to you?"

"Soulmates. It means that you were the first one who ever -- "

"The first. Not the only?"

He came forward, and they stood with the invisible field between them, eye to eye. She sensed the draining feeling of despair and hated that it had to be this way. He was a criminal, by Federation law, but he was still in a way the man she had once loved. But he wasn't Will, not the one she wanted to remain friends with, not the one she'd laughed over poker with, or gone on away missions with.

"I'm sorry that I deceived you on Galisi," she said at last. "I'm sorry that I can't give you what you want. I'm sorry for the situation you're in, but it was your choices that brought you here. Your decision to take this path. All you can do is start making better decisions -- and the best thing you can do at this point is to tell them what you can, see if your attorney can get you a lighter sentence, and start over. I hope you can make something of your life. I hope you can find some happiness. I know you can, if you try."

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk," he muttered, half-grinning, but tears glittered in his eyes.

She looked at him a moment longer, then backed to the console and put her hand on the panel. The room went silent; the humming that had become white noise died. He stood in the cell, unmoving, staring at her, so she crossed the distance and put her arms around him.

He sobbed into her hair, held her tightly -- it hurt her still-mending ribs, but not enough to bother. She rubbed his shoulder and let him release the anguish and pain, let him stroke her hair, let him cling until he loosened his grip on her. Finally, he held her away from him, and kissed her forehead.

"Tell whoever he is that he's the luckiest bastard alive, and if he doesn't take care of you, I'll come after him."

"I'll tell him that. Take care of yourself, all right?" Deanna backed out of the cell, stood a moment looking at him, then turned and reinitialized the force field. He didn't move a muscle, just watched her. She smiled, thinking of Betazed and the falls, and a happy, laughing man she'd run through the Janara Jungle with.

Tom smiled back at her. "Thanks for the smile. I'll keep it for a while, if you don't mind."

"Why do you think I gave it to you? Good bye, William Thomas Riker. Find happiness. It's waiting for you, just keep looking."

She left the antechamber, paused, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. deLio's pale green eyes regarded her questioningly. Deanna met them even while wiping a few stray tears from her cheeks.

"I'm supposed to be learning how to fly a shuttle," she said. "Would you like to give me lessons on the way home?"

"It would be my pleasure," deLio said. He took his usual place at her shoulder and followed her out of the security complex. Once clear of the front lobby, he touched her elbow. The unusual gesture brought her to a stop. She looked at him, curious, and almost laughed when he held up a bag. "The captain asked me to be sure you received these upon completion of your interview with Tom Riker."

She took the bag and popped a truffle in her mouth. "Thank you. Would you like a chocolate?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc picked up another rock. Drew back his arm. Step, hop, throw -- and the rock sailed out over the edge of the cliff, arcing down into the crashing waves.

He stepped back and Will stepped forward, slinging another rock. They'd established a rhythm, taking turns, throwing until one of them called it quits to rest a sore arm, at which point they took another drink. Throwing rocks into the ocean was a holdover from Jean-Luc's Academy days; one of his roommates had done it to blow off steam, or when there'd been too much studying and not enough activity.

This time it was Will's turn to quit. He walked back to the stump where they'd left the glasses and bottle, and Jean-Luc followed, noting the freeness of the younger man's stride and the slight waver from one side to the other. The rock-throwing had slowed Riker's ale intake significantly, but not enough.

"Why the hell did she go, Johnny? Why did she have to go see Tom?"

"Because she knew he wouldn't talk to anyone until she did."

Will heeled about, almost falling backward, and eyed him. "She knew that?"

"He spent the whole time in our brig demanding to see her, Will. He made sure no one in security slept on the job."

"Is he still that obsessed about her?"

Jean-Luc wrangled a smile into a grimace, mildly pleased to note that Will was even more angry about Tom's demands than her current choice of bed partner. "Another detail I didn't mention about the Galisi incident. They were waiting out of range, for the away team to show themselves. If they'd played the waiting game, Deanna would have died. She wanted to take them all alive, stun them, avoid any killing. She called his name, called him imzadi, to draw him out of hiding. His friends came out with him. That's how she won the day."

Convenient that Riker was already drunk -- his expression was such that Jean-Luc would have given him a drink. He wavered, swayed, and let go -- his legs collapsed under him and he sat on the grass, stunned.

"Yes, I know what it means, and yes, she explained it to me. The first to touch the soul -- first love. It's all very romantic, I'm sure. She went to apologize, because she used it against him."

"She told you all that?" Riker's voice sounded none too certain.

Jean-Luc sat on the stump, not feeling too steady himself, and poured. "You start bawling and I'll shove you off the damn cliff. You and your ego -- she wants to keep her friends, Will, and if you'd pay attention you'd notice that. She tied herself in knots about Beverly, and Bev took it like a man. She thought you'd take ten minutes to blow it off and be friends again, and you took it like a bastard. You made some nice noises last time we saw you, but when you started to pop off at me earlier it made me realize you've still got some of whatever it is to work out -- she was right, you're still clinging to something, and if you want to work it out of your system you can do it here with me." He handed Will his glass and took his own drink, almost missing his mouth. Yes, he was drunk enough. The ale retained its taste but lost its bite.

"What are you doing, Jean-Luc?" Riker leaned back on an elbow in the grass. "You're protecting her, aren't you? You're afraid I'm going to say something that'll hurt her."

"You don't have to say a thing to hurt her -- that's the problem. All you have to do is walk in the room and feel at her, at me -- all you have to do is be angry. So get it out of your system, Will. Insult me. Hit me." Jean-Luc held his arms out wide. "Go ahead, I can take it."

"You're crazy."

"What's the matter, Riker? Too drunk to swing a fist at Deanna's lover? The one she comes home to every night, the one she laughs with and teases, the one she -- "

"The one she fucks morning noon and night?" Riker hunched forward over his glass unsteadily. "You think I haven't dealt with it -- well, I'm dealing. It isn't the sort of thing that goes away overnight."

Jean-Luc sniffed. "Tell me about it. Took me years to get Beverly out of my system. But you know us men, we'll do anything they ask, and she asked for it."

They sat in drunken musings, then glanced at each other and started to chuckle. Riker wagged his head back and forth. "You were all ready to let me kick your ass just to get it out of my system, just for her sake -- "

"And you chickened out," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "You had your chance, Will Riker, so don't start making accusations again. I'll mop up my decks with your sorry hide."

"You and what army, Picard?" Riker tried standing up, wavered, and gave up, sitting down again and holding out his glass. Jean-Luc obliged with a refill. Will stared at him over the top of his ale in a brief moment of inebriated seriousness. "You really would've let me hit you?"

Jean-Luc sighed deeply and felt suddenly, undeniably old and tired. "I let her volunteer to beam down into a situation that could turn into a firefight in seconds. Next to that, being decked by a drunk is nothing."

"She volunteered for that?"

Throwing the glass to the ground, Jean-Luc applied his palms to his eyes; weakened by the drinking, he was too close to crying at the memory of Deanna's broken body -- he had finally watched the playback of the recording Data had made of the incident. She'd been in shock, and still she'd shouted orders while the blood pooled beneath her.

"I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"Sorry doesn't cut it. Sorry -- she was dying, dammit! I could feel her dying -- "

The holodeck door opened. Jean-Luc's legs failed to respond as planned and he fell clumsily to the ground, rolling, and found himself looking up at Deanna's worried face. She quickly recovered from concern and warped right into fury.

"You're drunk!"

"I was just thinking about you," he exclaimed happily, making the attempt. "You're back early -- did it go well?"

"Obviously, or I'd still be there. He was a fairly easy loose end to tie up. Get off the ground, already."

He sat up and reached, and she took his hand reluctantly. Overshooting the goal, he fell against her. "Jean, stop it. You smell like a -- you've been drinking my ale!"

"Your ale?" Riker had made it to his feet somehow, and wore a ghost of his usual affable grin.

"What's going on? This isn't like you. . . . Jean, what did you do? What are you hiding from me?"

"He's been attempting a little therapy on his own. It's my fault, Dee. I accused him of something ridiculous, and he wanted me to get it out of my system before you got back. And the drunk part was really my idea."

She turned to deLio, who stood in the open holodeck door. "Could you see Captain Riker back to his ship?"

"I can walk," Riker said indignantly, proving it by stumbling then lurching toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Jean-Luc."

"If I live that long. Did she behave herself, deLio?"

The L'norim barely smiled. "Yes, sir. And she piloted the shuttle on the return trip."

Riker stopped and raised an eyebrow. "Y'know, Jean-Luc, you've got a brave man, here."

"Good night, Will," Jean-Luc said, trying not to smile.

The door closed behind Riker. Jean-Luc fumbled and pulled a hypo out of his pocket. She took it from him, pulling down the collar of his shirt and pressing it against his neck. "At least you thought that far ahead. What he said -- you were trying to provoke a fight, weren't you?" Her voice was hard as the rocks around them, as cold as the ocean.

The stimulant hit his brain like ice water. Shaking his head, he blinked rapidly. "Some things aren't resolved by just talking about them."

"Drinking yourself into a stupor and letting someone beat on you resolves what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure. It didn't happen. I'm glad you're home, cherie, I wasn't looking forward to not being able to sleep." She settled at last, losing the initial anxiety, but her face fell into distressed lines. He pulled her to his chest and her arms went around him, seeking comfort. "It wasn't as easy as you say, was it?"

"It was, but it wasn't. He'll talk to them now, though. It's that or sit in prison for a long time. He let go." She inhaled and let it out slow, a long shuddering breath. "He let go, and so did I."

"I didn't realize there was anything with Tom to be released."

"Nothing like that. You can classify him as Tom Riker, and so can everyone else, but it's different for me -- he's Will, as Will might have been under different circumstances. He's Will down to the last chromosome. He was split from Will after I met him on Betazed. He didn't decide to not return for me. He represented imzadi, the one I remember fondly, the one who wanted to stay with me. Confronting him helped me deal with the Will we know, at least in my mind."

"So Captain Riker isn't imzadi?"

She moaned, standing back and gripping the front of his shirt. "I can't stand the smell of that shirt. They're both imzadi, and yet. . . . I'm too tired to think about this."

He discontinued the program, picked up the bottle and glasses, and followed her from the holodeck. The walk back to his quarters brought them within sight of a few people, but luckily from a distance; he had become accustomed to the smell of the ale, but he probably reeked from the spills on his clothing.

She frowned at the disarray in the front room, the poker paraphernalia and the jackets across the back of the sofa, and started pulling off his shirt, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "If you weren't deliberately trying to pickle yourself, you came too close. I was saving that ale -- Beverly and I got it at the last starbase, for your birthday party. Now I'll have to find something else."

"Then you shouldn't hide it where I can find it." He tugged at her uniform, returning the favor. The annunciator made both of them jump. She shoved him toward the bedroom, then froze -- it really was his door to answer, after all.

"Computer, who's at the door?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Captain William Riker."

"She forgot the T," Deanna said. "He's off the ship for a year and she doesn't recognize him any more."

"Come in," Jean-Luc said, eyeing Deanna. She looked down at her untucked shirt and mostly-off jacket, and darted for the bedroom as the door opened.

Riker stopped just inside. "My communicator and the chips and cards."

"Right where you left them. You must've stopped in sickbay."

"Once I got a stim, your chief let me go solo." Riker crossed the room and picked up both comm badges, turning them over in his hands. He tossed one to Jean-Luc. "Now that you don't have anywhere to hang it."

Jean-Luc smirked as he almost put the badge on his bare chest. "Deanna didn't like the way it smelled. Came off the minute I walked in."

Riker picked up the case he kept the chips in, tucking it under his arm. He hesitated, gazing at Jean-Luc, quite sober. "You really wanted me to hit you."

"If it would get you to stop seeing me as an adversary, if it would clear the air. . . and what makes you think I didn't want to hit you back?"

Riker smiled, pausing on his way out to drop a hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. "Take care of her, Jean-Luc."

"Don't worry, I intend to." Jean-Luc grinned. "As much as she'll let me, anyway."


End file.
